Police at the Funeral (19 page)

He switched out the light and lay down to sleep, having decided to call upon the Inspector at the earliest possible moment on the morrow.

It was some time later when he woke up suddenly and sat up in bed, listening. The heavy curtains over the window shut out all light, so that the darkness was almost tangible, like black cotton wool filling the house. Campion was one of those people who are immediately in possession of all their thoughts and faculties the moment they open their eyes, and a feeling of apprehension seized him instantly. He caught a fleeting
impression of the house as some sick, many-petticoated creature crouching frightened in the unrelenting darkness. There was now no sound at all to be heard, yet he knew that something had awakened him. He had a vague idea that it had been the gentle closing of a door.

For some time he remained where he was, his eyes closed, his ears strained to catch the least movement. At length, somewhere far off, he heard wood knocking gently against wood.

He sprang out of bed and crept towards the door, letting himself out without a sound.

The moonlight was streaming through the windows into the corridor and the ghostly light was comforting after the appalling blackness of his room. For an instant he stood rigid. Then something moved in the hall at the far end of the corridor, a furtive rustling.

He strode swiftly towards it, his feet making no sound on the thick carpet. Just for a moment it occurred to him that his behaviour was somewhat questionable for a quest on his first night in the house, but at the mouth of the corridor he stopped abruptly.

Standing in the centre of the small hall, the moonlight falling directly upon him, was the pyjama-clad figure of Uncle William. His eyes were bulging and there was a look of terror upon his face. His right arm was held stiffly away from him, and Campion, catching sight of it, was conscious of a sudden shock.

A stain, black in the moonlight, covered the hand and wrist and dripped terrifyingly from the finger-tips. At the instant that Campion himself caught sight of this apparition the door of Aunt Kitty's room directly across the hall burst open and a little tousled figure appeared upon the threshold. Her eyes lighted upon William, and a thin scream of terror echoed through the slumbering house.

The old man wheeled round, his hand thrust hastily behind him. He swore violently, entirely forgetting his erstwhile efforts to keep quiet. The house echoed with his voice. Doors began to open on the floor above, and Joyce appeared from her room on the other side of the hall. She was half asleep, and her hair fell over the shoulders of her dressing-gown.

‘What is it? What's the matter? Aunt Kitty, what are you doing?'

The little figure in the fussy flannelette nightgown tottered out into the moonlight.

‘His hand! His hand!' said Aunt Kitty breathlessly. ‘Look at his hand! Someone else has been murdered!' And again the high hysterical shriek broke from her lips.

It was at this moment that the door of Great-aunt Caroline's room opened and a figure, infinitesimally small shorn of its petticoats, stepped out towards them. Great-aunt Caroline's night attire was as dainty as were all her other clothes. She was swathed in filmy Shetland shawls, and her little dark face peered out from beneath an immense lace bonnet, which tied under her chin. Even at such a moment she dominated the entire proceedings.

‘What is all this disturbance?'

The sound of her voice effectively silenced Aunt Kitty, who appeared to be on the verge of yet another hysterical outburst.

‘William, what are you doing? Joyce, go back to your room.'

Uncle William said nothing. He stood goggling, his mouth hanging open, his hand still thrust behind him, a grotesque absurd gesture in the circumstances.

‘Answer me, sir.' Great-aunt Faraday's voice was as commanding as ever.

Mr Campion started forward, and William, hearing someone behind him, spun round, revealing his hand to the rest of the group. Campion heard Joyce's quick intake of breath, and old Mrs Faraday came farther out of her doorway. Campion caught Uncle William just as he slumped on to the floor.

‘Switch on the light, someone,' he said.

It was Joyce who obeyed him. The light shot up and Campion bent over the older man with a sigh of relief. There was nothing seriously wrong with Uncle William, and he was making a valiant effort to pull himself together.

‘I'm all right,' he said thickly. He raised his arm in his attempt to get up, and his hand came into view again. Instantly the horror was explained. There was a deep ragged wound from the knuckles to the wrist, but the terrifying stain which
had dripped from the fingers was nothing but iodine, a whole bottle of which he seemed to have upset over himself.

It was at this moment that the second incident occurred.

‘This I won't have! Madame, you'll catch your death of cold.'

A strident voice from the top of the staircase made them all turn. A powerful figure in a long white calico gown was striding down upon them. Campion only just recognized in this commanding form the homely, pleasant-faced Alice, whom he had last seen bearing sustenance to Uncle William in the morning-room. Her hair, scraped back from her forehead, was plaited into a tight pigtail, and anger and concern had entirely altered her face. She turned on the group as if they had been so many lunatics.

‘You'll kill her,' she said fiercely. ‘That's what you'll do, dragging her out on to this cold landing with your screams and noise. Hasn't she enough to worry her without being disturbed in the middle of the night? She's the one I'm thinking of.'

‘Alice!' Great-aunt Caroline's voice, raised in protest, was lost in this cyclonic outburst.

Alice strode past Uncle William without glancing in his direction and now towered above her mistress.

‘Will you get into your bed, ma'am?' she demanded.

Great-aunt Faraday did not speak, but neither did she move, and the other woman, who seemed to have become even larger and more elemental now that she stood amongst them, picked up her mistress as if she had been a child and carried her into the darkness of the bedroom beyond.

This move was done with such extraordinary ease that it struck Campion as being an amazing feat of strength. It was as though Alice had picked up a recalcitrant kitten in her progress.

As the door of Aunt Faraday's room shut firmly, the general interest returned to Uncle William. Campion helped him to his feet, where he stood shaking violently, his mouth still hanging open. The young man turned to Joyce.

‘You get your aunt back to bed,' he murmured. ‘I'll see to Mr Faraday.'

The girl nodded and moved over to Aunt Kitty, who was
standing helplessly in the middle of the hall wringing her hands, tears streaming down her puckered old face.

Campion supported Uncle William back to his room, where he sat on the edge of his bed swaying backwards and forwards, mumbling unintelligibly. Had the old man been a woman, Mr Campion would have diagnosed faintness as result of shock. As it was, he put the seizure down to some hitherto unsuspected cardiac trouble.

His eye lighted again on the wound and all his apprehension returned. It was no ordinary scratch, but a deep ragged cut like a knife-thrust that had gone astray. The iodine had added to its horrific appearance, whilst staunching the blood. The longer Mr Campion looked at it the more the unpleasant thought was forced upon his mind that the end of the series of outrages at Socrates Close had not yet come.

‘How did you do that?' he demanded, indicating the wound.

Uncle William thrust his hand behind him. An obstinate gleam shone in his watery blue eyes.

‘Mind your own damned business,' he said, speaking with a viciousness engendered by fright.

‘I'm sorry,' said Campion. ‘Well, I suppose you'll be all right now?'

As he turned towards the door, Uncle William thrust out his left hand appealingly.

‘Don't go, for heaven's sake, old man,' he said. ‘Must have a drink. I'll be myself again when I've had a drink. I've had a bit of a shock, between ourselves. Ask Joyce – yes, that's right, ask Joyce. She'll get me a brandy. The old lady trusts her with the keys.'

Fortunately for Mr Campion he encountered Joyce in the hall. She was white and frightened, but eminently practical.

‘All right,' she whispered, in response to his request. ‘You go back to him; I'll bring it along. Did he say who attacked him?'

This sudden question, which fitted in so well with his own hastily formed theories, startled the young man.

‘He won't say anything,' he whispered back.

She paused and seemed to be about to speak, but changed her mind and hurried down the stairs without saying another word. Campion went back to Uncle William.

He was still seated on the edge of his bed, his unslippered feet resting on the thick woollen carpet. He looked ill and curiously frightened, but as he caught sight of Campion he stiffened and forced a smile.

‘Made a bit of a fool of myself,' he said with a hopeless attempt at lightness. ‘Always was a believer in iodine – army training, I suppose. If you hurt yourself, stick on a wad of iodine. It stings, but it's worth it. Saves no end of trouble afterwards. Unluckily my hand was a bit unsteady – being half asleep, don't you know – and I spilt the bottle over myself. I may be getting old – I don't know.'

Campion looked at the wound again. ‘You ought to have a bandage on it,' he remarked. ‘It's pretty deep. Is there such a thing in the house?'

‘There's one in the first-aid box where I got the iodine.' Uncle William was blinking at his wounded hand, from which the blood was beginning to ooze again. ‘It's in that oak corner cupboard in the hall. But don't go and get it and wake the house again, just as I did. There's a handkerchief in that top drawer; that'll do. Unlucky beggar I am! That girl's a long time with that drink. Just my luck if there isn't any. What's the use of living in a non-prohibition country if you don't keep anything in the house? When I get my money I shall go to America. It'll be a funny thing to have to go to America to get a drink.'

Mr Campion returned with the handkerchief and was still looking curiously at the wound, which seemed as though it might be the better for a few stitches, when Joyce came in, a glass in one hand and a decanter in the other. Uncle William rose immediately she appeared.

‘That's a good girl,' he said. ‘That's the only medicine that ever did me any good. Pour it out for me, will you, my dear? Can't trust this hand of mine.'

As she gave him the glass she noticed the real extent of the damage for the first time, and an involuntary exclamation escaped her.

‘Oh, how did it happen? Who did it?' she burst out.

Uncle William drained his glass and sat down again on the edge of the bed. The spirit made him cough, and a healthier
colour returned to his face. As Joyce repeated her question he blinked at her.

‘Yes,' he echoed, ‘how did it happen? Most extraordinary thing. I've never liked cats. Filthy, dangerous animals. Great black beast got into my room. I went to put it out and it scratched me.'

Having got over what he evidently considered to be the hump of his story, he continued with returning confidence.

‘Must have got in from some place outside. I can't think how it managed it. But it's gone now.'

He glanced about him as if to assure himself that this indeed was the case. The girl shot an incredulous glance at Campion, who showed no sign either of conviction or disbelief.

‘I said to myself,' Uncle William continued with terrific gusto, ‘cat scratches are poisonous. So I went along to the first-aid box in the hall, and the rest you know.'

He seemed to consider that this was the end of the matter, but Joyce was frankly dissatisfied.

‘A cat?' she demanded. ‘Are you sure?'

In spite of his unsteady hand, Uncle William was helping himself to another brandy.

‘I said a cat, and I mean a cat,' he said with an attempt at dignity.

‘But, Uncle William, you can't ask us to believe you if you say things like that,' Joyce protested. ‘How could there be a cat in here?'

‘I don't know.' The old man spoke with his back to her. ‘I'm only telling you what I saw. I had my window open at the bottom – there it is, you can see for yourself. I woke to hear the thing – to hear the thing – well, to hear the thing. And I hate the creatures. I'm like old Roberts in that respect. He couldn't bear 'em and I can't bear 'em. I picked the creature up and I pushed it through the window and it scratched me. There you are. Isn't that clear? I don't know what you're making such a fuss about.'

The girl reddened. ‘All right,' she said. ‘If you'll give me that handkerchief, Mr Campion, I'll tie his hand up. You'll have to see the doctor in the morning, Uncle.'

‘You leave me alone, my dear. I'll be all right. I've had plenty of cuts before now.'

Uncle William was still on his dignity, but there was yet a furtive uneasiness in his eyes. The bandaging complete, a certain embarrassing argument followed as to whether the brandy should remain or no. A compromise having been reached, the young people left the old man in bed with a small tot at his side. In the corridor Joyce turned to Campion.

‘What happened?' she whispered.

The young man seemed troubled. ‘Look here,' he murmured, ‘don't go downstairs with that stuff. Take it into your room or leave it in the hall, or something. And when you shut your door behind you, turn the key.'

Her eyes met his questioningly, but he said no more and she went off, switching out the light in the hall as she passed into her room.

Campion stood where he was for some moments before he turned and went back to his bed. As he passed Uncle William's room he heard a faint sound from within and paused to listen. When he moved on again his face was very grave and his pale eyes were narrowed.